


Forever and Always

by clarityhiding



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Blood Magic, Jason Todd is Robin, JayTim Week 2018, JayTimBINGO2019, M/M, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Wordcount: Over 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2019-08-25 20:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16667749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: One must always be careful when it comes to swearing oaths. It is imperative that all the variables are ascertained before any words are spoken, particularly when blood is involved. If not, it could very well blow up in someone's face.Despite the unforeseen consequences, Tim doesn't regret his actions one bit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Silver_Snow_77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl/works>chibi_nightowl</a>%20for%20beta-reading%20this%20whole%20thing%20\(a%20star!\)%20and%20<a%20href=) for their invaluable help with lore/magic/etc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Day 8: Urban Fantasy/Blood Oath of JayTim Week! There's going to be more to this, it just... didn't fit well with the fluffy soppiness of this bit, so it'll be coming later~

"You can't, you swore an oath in blood!"

"I was _ten_ , I didn't know what I was doing! No one will consider it legal and binding."

Tim fumes, glaring through the window at the other boy. "It _should_ count," he mutters, gripping the sill hard enough that his fingernails press little half-moons into the hardwood. Unfortunately, he's pretty sure the City Council of Mages will take Jason's side ( _Bruce's_ side) if he tries to take it up with the law.

"Sorry," Jason says, making everything worse by sounding like he actually means it. He probably does, since of course Tim went and got himself bound to a genuinely good person.

Pulling himself up so he can rest on the sill, Tim leans against the window and sighs. He wants to go inside, to bury himself into Jason's chest and feel his comforting warmth, but the wards on Wayne Manor are just too strong for him to break. "It's not _fair_. You swore an oath to _me_ , no one else should get to have you."

"I don't like it any more than you do," Jason says, pressing his hand against the golden shimmer of the ward across the open window.

Reaching out, Tim does the same, placing his hand so it overlaps Jason's. He can't feel anything more than the annoying tingle of the ward against his skin, but that's good, that's fine. His ire is already starting to manifest physically, changing blunt nails to pointed claws and the ward is protecting Jason, shielding him from danger. From Tim.

"I'm not even a _real_ Fae. I don't want to steal you away and keep you from your family. I just want you close by, where I can see you," Tim mumbles, lisping slightly around teeth changed sharp and predatory.

Jason's hand trembles slightly against the ward. "It'll only be for a few years. Just until I know enough that I can control the magic so it won't act out at random and hurt people."

The words dredge up painful memories and pull an anxious, inhuman whine from Tim. "It's not random. It's to protect you, to keep you safe from anyone who would do you harm when I'm not there." At least, that's how the little twist of Fae magic that's flowed through Jason ever since the oath is _supposed_ to work. How was he to know that the boy he bound himself to would manifest as a warlock just a few short months later? That his Fae magic would combine in a weird, explosive way with Jason's innate earth sense if allowed to mix and mingle unchecked?

"Which is all the time now that Bruce has banned you from the manor."

Tim whines again, pressing against the ward, testing it, trying to somehow get through it, get closer. All that happens is that the tingle turns from annoying to slightly painful. "Also not fair. He liked me fine back when he thought I was fully human."

"You mean back before we found out that when our magics mix, they can blow up half a city block." Before the Fae abilities passed to Tim from a less-than-human great-grandfather fully manifested themselves. Before they learned that, because of the little bit of Fae passed to Jason through the blood oath, the same explosive results can happen when Tim is nowhere nearby. All that's needed is for the oath spell to sense that Jason is in danger, causing the intrinsic magic in the Fae blood to activate. "You have to admit that it wasn't very responsible of us to swear an oath like that when we didn't know my magical heritage."

"If you want me to feel guilty about being indirectly responsible for the Joker's death, it's not going to work," Tim snaps, his fingers growing a little thinner, a little longer, a little less human even as he struggles to calm himself, to maintain his normal, mundane appearance. "That thing was an abomination, a corruption of more magics and bloodlines than we'll ever really know. You did the world a favor, bringing the warehouse down on top of him."

"Yes, but Joker wasn't the only one killed when it happened," Jason reminds him. "Sheila's earth sense was strong, but it couldn't protect her against our mixed magics. You may have Fae callousness to help you cope with that, but I don't. I have to live with the knowledge that I killed her."

"Self-defense," Tim insists, but it's more a whine than a real argument, and already his face and form are rounding out again, losing angles to turn soft and human as his entire being feels heavier, weighted down with Jason's chastisement. "She led you into a trap that could've killed you, _would've_ killed you if it weren't for my blood in you."

"We don't know that. We don't know that there wasn't another way, another solution; Batman was on his way. It could have gone differently—if I'd been able to control it." Which brings them back to their present, current problem.

"I don't want you to go. That was part of the point of the oath, to guarantee we'd always be together, no matter what," Tim says. He doesn't speak the rest, doesn't to try in guilt Jason into staying by letting him know that, as the primary oath-maker, he feels real, physical pain whenever the bond is stretched too far, too thin. As it indubitably will be if Jason goes along with Batman's plans.

"I know," Jason says softly, pushing up the window further so that Tim is leaning against the ward instead of cool glass. "I spoke the binding words just as much as you did, remember, and for all the same reasons. But going to the Watchtower is the only way to train me where the earth can't rise up and attack my teachers. And you can't exactly leave in this far into the school year to go up to space; what would your parents think?"

Tim gulps and nods. Much as he's loathe to admit it, Batman has a point about Jason needing to learn to manage his earth sense, to take into account the thread of Fae magic that now winds through it. Most people learn the ins and outs of their bloodline's magic at the knee of the parent they inherited it from, but thanks to his foolish actions, Jason will never have that chance. Tim may whinge and rail against the decision, but he won't stand in the way of it, won't try to stop it. "I love you," he whispers, struggling to pull all the Fae from his hand, letting now-human fingers pass through the ward to slot between Jason's, clasping his hand.

Jason leans in, pressing his lips to the place where Tim's cheek rests against the ward, causing a brief, kiss-shaped flare of lightning on his skin. "I love you too. Forever and always," he says, speaking the final words of the binding oath they swore when they were young and foolish and just friends, not whatever it is they are now.

"Forever and always," Tim repeats and, like it always does when they renew their oath, a flare of giddy excitement races through him, radiating outwards from the thin scar across his palm. This is just one more obstacle to overcome, one more hurdle to jump in a course that will always have the same eventual outcome, the same goal. Tim and Jason, together.

Forever and always.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason goes to space. It kind of sucks.

Jason leaves and Tim has to pretend nothing's changed, nothing's different. Has to do his homework and go to class and ignore the way his fingers twitch sometimes, the way his chest constricts and he has difficulty breathing. It's not bad, just mildly inconvenient. He can live with mildly inconvenient.

Half a year later, the twitches have progressed to all-out tremors that go on for ages and it's a good thing the Fae in him means he technically only needs to breathe a couple times an hour, since his lungs sometimes decide to forget how to work completely. Still not a problem, though he has to remember to keep his hands out of view whenever he video-chats with Jason.

_"Uuuugh, this is so_ boring _. Dinah keeps making me do these breathing exercises, like I don't already know how to meditate."_ Jason sighs, slumping. _"What about you? It's got to be better than this."_

"It's school, so I don't know about that." Tim bites his lip, tries to draw in enough breath to say more, and finds he can't. So instead he smiles, shrugs. Hopes it's enough and Jason won't question his laconicness.

_"School,"_ Jason moans, his face falling apart into a look of utter betrayal. _"I'm missing so much, being here. I mean, everyone's working together to get me through the homeschool curriculum, but I was finally getting the hang of going to classes again. I wanted to try out for the track team, go to dances and football games. Finally have a_ normal _life."_

Tim snorts, rolls his eyes. Lifts an eyebrow in a silent, doubting way. Would cross his fingers in hopes of selling it, but his hands are shaking too much for that. As it is, he's got them tucked up under his thighs in an effort to calm them down. It's not helping very much.

_"Shut up. I know it wouldn't be exactly normal, and I know that Bruce wouldn't be okay with me joining a team, but I'd like to have at least the pretense of the option. You get it, right? Your parents keep sticking you in boarding school and you're always saying you want to try out public school."_

A shrug and a nod. Tim doesn't know how long he can keep this up, how long he can keep Jason in the dark. Batman thinks it might take _years_ for them to fully understand and manage the oddity of Jason's warlock earth sense as it mixes with Tim's Fae magics, and the symptoms of bond-withdrawal will only get worse.

_"Tim? You okay? You're being awfully quiet."_ Jason frowns, leaning in closer, like being right up in front of his own camera is going to let him get a better look at Tim, never mind that he's over two hundred miles away, up in the sky.

Somehow, impossibly, he finally manages a breath, drawing it in deep, taking as much air as he possibly can just in case he can't swing another anytime soon. "Sorry, I was just thinking. About how much I miss you. Wish I could do something to help hurry this training along, but I get that it can't be rushed."

_"I'll talk to Bruce. You aren't a member of his stupid club, but I know they make exceptions, sometimes. Maybe you can come for a visit."_

"That would be nice. I'd like that," he says, though he knows Batman will never agree to letting a thirteen-year-old civilian with too-strong Fae blood visit the Justice League's outer space headquarters. Even ignoring the fact Fae magic tends to be particularly aggressive about anything too technologically advance, the Watchtower is essentially a giant steel box in a vacuum, and steel is refined iron. Tim may be mostly human more often than not, but it's just a very bad idea in general.

_"It's only fair,"_ Jason says, nodding to himself. _"You're practically family, after all."_

"Yeah," Tim says, struggling not to think of how _family_ is what got them into this mess in the first place. "I guess you're right."

 

* * *

 

The headaches start two months later, horrible and throbbing, forcing him to lie in bed for hours with all the lights off in his dorm room. It's affecting his schoolwork, and his roommate keeps pushing for him to go to the nurse about it, but Tim is fairly certain this isn't something the school nurse is capable of handling. Particularly since Brentwood Academy is renowned for being skeptical of the existence of sentient non-human magical species—one of the reasons his parents sent him here, somehow believing that denial of blood would keep its effects from manifesting. The school is hardly going to acknowledge that a student could be suffering from the side effects of a Fae blood oath.

Tim takes his skateboard to the drug store on a lazy Sunday afternoon and buys a jumbo bottle of over-the-counter extra-strength painkillers and a pair of sunglasses. When he gets back to his room later, he forges a note from Dr. Leslie saying that it is medically necessary for Timothy Drake to occasionally wear the sunglasses in class. All the teachers accept the note without question when he gives it to them, and life goes on.

 

* * *

 

Just over a year after Jason goes into space, Tim collapses outside the door to his English class, blacking out after nearly two straight hours of being unable to breathe. It's weird. His vision goes black first, everything goes light and floaty, and then it feels like he loses control of all his limbs, his arms and legs jerking around uncontrollably.

When he wakes up in the nurse's office a little while later, Danny tells him he went down like a rock, no flailing to speak of. The nurse listens to the symptoms and tells him it's low blood pressure, recommends that Tim drink more water, maybe increase his salt intake.

"I have a cousin who has that," Danny says as they walk back to the dorms. English was their last class, so at least Tim's little mishap didn't cause them to miss anything. "She gets pretty dizzy when she first stands up, sometimes. If you hold onto things, or sit down as soon as you start to feel woozy, you don't black out so much."

"I'll keep that in mind," Tim says, though he doubts it'll help at all. The only thing that can help is thousands of miles away, in low Earth orbit on the other side of the planet, and if Batman has his way, Tim will never be allowed near Jason again. "Thanks."

"No problem," Danny says, bumping their shoulders together. "What else are friends for?"

Tim isn't sure, though he now knows the answer to that particular question most definitely isn't, 'To act as guinea pigs for whatever weird spell you copied off your dad's latest archeological find.'

 

* * *

 

_"—and now Dinah's saying my center's off and I have to start all over again, but I still have a trig problem set to finish and, honestly, you'd think the complete lack of any sense of day or night would mean there's more hours to get things done, but there really aren't."_

"Mmhm." Tim is trying to keep the conversation going, but it's been thirty minutes now and he still hasn't had another breath. Jason's starting to notice how quiet he's been. Plus, he’s having a hard time staying conscious, he's breathed so little today. His eyes keep drifting shut, and he can't even pinch himself to stay awake because his hands won't stop shaking, even though he's been sitting on them for so long they've started to tingle.

_"You alright there? I just said I have to stay another three months at least, but you barely reacted."_

"Mmm." He yawns, wide and silent because there's no breath left to expel. He told his roommate to come back after thirty minutes, but he's starting to think Ali either forgot or decided to give him some extra time alone.

_"Are you getting enough sleep? I know you like to stay up all night, but if you keep doing that, you're going to stunt your growth."_ Jason's words sound flippant, but his face looks worried as he leans in close. _"You look awful, and every time I call you, you look even worse."_

He shrugs and opens his mouth, though how he's going to say anything to calm Jason's worries when he still has no air to speak with, he doesn't know. Thankfully, Ali chooses that moment to return. Tim glances back over his shoulder as the door pushes open, and reaches to disconnect the call, struggling to find the right thing to click between shaky hands and black spots that have begun to swim across his vision.

_"Is your roommate back already? I didn't think it was that late…"_ Jason sighs and shakes his head.

Tim opens his mouth—to attempt a reply or a breath, he isn't sure which—but Jason's face blurs in front of him and suddenly his entire world is tilting, sliding away and turning black. Dimly, he can hear shouting—Jason or Ali or both of them, but they're far away and in the here and now he can't do anything more than fall and shake and then nothing at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cavalry arrives (sort of, not really).

"—insisted it was just migraines and low blood pressure, though I asked Zugir and he agreed it behaved more like a magical affliction. But all of the school staff look ready to faint at the slightest mention of magic, so I couldn't exactly go to them about it," Ali is saying when Tim eventually comes to.

A bright light is shining in his eyes and Tim flinches away, flailing erratically. Everything feels off, sluggish. Like he's moving through water instead of air. Breathing deeply (thanking whatever god is smiling down on him when it works), he croaks, "'M fine. Just… Need more sleep."

"From what your young friend has told me, you are far from fine, Master Drake," an accented and unfamiliar voice says, and the light moves away as a stethoscope is pressed to Tim's chest. The cold ring of metal edging the plastic diaphragm burns where it touches bare skin, and he flinches before forcing himself to remain still, fighting to draw the Fae magic that permeates his body inwards, away from that part of him.

Blinking spots from his eyes, he squints at the man leaning over him. "Mr. Pennyworth?" he asks, recognizing Bruce Wayne's personal valet and sorcerer. "What are you doing here?"

"Master Jason was alarmed by your affliction and requested that I 'check up' on you, as it were," Mr. Pennyworth says. Pulling back, he removes the stethoscope, the corners of his mouth curling downwards. "Though aside from slightly erratic breathing, I can't say I notice anything physically wrong with you."

"I'm fine, Jason shouldn't be worrying over me," Tim insists, feeling less shaky by the minute as he scrambles to sit up and rebutton his shirt. His stomach twists uncomfortably, but he's pretty sure that's more due to the realization that Jason must have witnessed him have a fit than anything else.

Catching his wrist, Mr. Pennyworth twitches aside Tim's half-buttoned shirt to reveal the perfect red ring left there by the stethoscope. "I say. My understanding was the Fae in you was nowhere near enough to cause such a lasting reaction."

"Fae?" Ali asks, leaning in with eager curiosity.

"I'm… not strictly human. Entirely," Tim admits, glancing away. He shouldn't be ashamed of it, should be proud, if anything. The Fae in him is what's kept him alive this long without Jason, after all. At the same time, if it weren't for that thread of otherworldly magic, Jason would never have been sent away in the first place (may never have come home from Ethiopia). "One of my mother's ancestors is of the _aos sí_ , the Fae folk. They… don't do so well with iron."

"Ah, this explains a lot. My own family is said to be descended from the sacred scorpion men of Shamash," Ali says, nodding with understanding. "Every once in a while, someone is still born with a tail. It makes it very difficult to wear proper trousers."

"Right," Tim says slowly, unsure how else to respond to that. "Well. Either way, it's not a big deal. I just got a bit woozy and passed out, that's all. Low blood pressure."

"His hands shake a lot sometimes also," Ali volunteers, because he can't leave well enough alone. "And his lips turn blue."

Mr. Pennyworth's frown deepens even further, and he lets go of Tim's wrist to draw a green-hued monocle from his bag, holding it up to his eye as he looks him over. "It's no wonder you have no defense against cold iron, Master Drake. There is a strong spell drawing all the magic from your body; it's amazing you're in one piece at all."

"I'm fine," he insists, though already his fingers are fumbling uselessly as he struggles to make them cooperate enough to button his shirt. "It's nothing. Three months. I can. Do it." Three months _is_ nothing, after all—it's already been nearly a year and a half. Jason is doing so much and trying so hard to master his earth sense, while all Tim needs to do is keep breathing. He has it so much easier.

"Oh dear," Mr. Pennyworth says, squinting through his monocle at what must surely be some invisible thread of magic. "Don't tell me this is a result of that nasty little oath you had Master Jason swear?"

"Not… nasty. Pro…tect," Tim struggles to say. His lungs are still working, but only just barely, enough to draw breath or speak, not both. This isn't right. He usually has more time in between incidents, several hours at least. He couldn't have passed out for that long earlier, could he have?

"He would never do anything to hurt Jason," Ali says, and Tim flashes him a grateful smile. "He's always very excited for nights when Jason calls him, and he talks about him all the time." Information that Mr. Pennyworth really doesn't need to know, particularly since Tim and Jason aren't strictly supposed to be in contact with one another, but it isn't as if there's much point in trying to hide it at this point. Not with Jason having already admitted to talking to him.

"Well, either way, Master Drake isn't looking particularly well himself at the moment," Mr. Pennyworth says as he gathers up his things and tucks them back into the leather case resting beside him.

Jumping to his feet, Ali moves to hover near the door. "I would get the school nurse, but like I said, the people here aren't very good at handling anything magical."

Mr. Pennyworth harrumphs and then, strangely, lifts Tim in his arms like he doesn't weigh a thing. Perhaps he doesn't—the man _is_ a powerful sorcerer, after all. "I doubt that would do much good. No, there's nothing for it but to take him back to the manor with me. I won't have the time to explain things to the staff here, but if you'd be so kind as to inform the headmaster that Master Drake will be staying with a… family friend at Wayne Manor until this matter is resolved, I'd be much obliged."

"Oh. Yeah, sure…?" Ali says faintly, hefting up Tim's backpack when Mr. Pennyworth indicates he should take it and following them out the door.

 

* * *

 

The ride to Wayne Manor is a quiet one, mostly because Tim spends the majority of it choosing to breathe instead of speak. Further compounding the issue is the fact that all of him is afflicted with tremors now, not just his hands and arms, making it impossible for him to even nod or shake his head—to have any kind of control over his body, really. Still, Mr. Pennyworth tries to grill him, asking numerous questions about his symptoms, the oath, what side effects Jason may be experiencing and keeping from the heroes who are teaching him. The sorcerer eventually leaves off his inquiries when it becomes clear the only response will be stony silence.

Tim is grateful for the reprieve, using the opportunity to mull over how he's going to find his way back to the school when Batman returns from his nightly prowl of the city and inevitably kicks him out. Jason may have contacted Mr. Pennyworth to help, but he also wants to believe the best of the men who took him in, and has a blind spot when it comes to realizing that his father has a very black and white view when it comes to the _aos sí_. Tim is under no illusions when it comes to what Batman thinks of the boy who bound his son up with a shady blood oath reeking of otherworldly magic.

It's not until the car is passing through the gates and starting the final stretch up the drive to the manor that Tim's lungs start working properly once more. He immediately draws in a deep breath, then another and another, fighting to make up for lost time, to allow his cells to re-oxygenate completely like they weren't able to during his brief respite earlier.

"Are you back with us again, Master Drake?" Mr. Pennyworth asks, his words practically dripping disapproval.

Tim nods distractedly, staring up at the big house rising before them with trepidation. "I can't…" They're still far enough away that he has to squint to see the faint golden shimmer of the wards enveloping the building, but even in his weakened state he can feel the layers of magical protection worked into the land around them. Decades of wards, added and built upon by each generation of Waynes over the years. The current owner may lack the magical abilities of his predecessors, but between his servant and his sons, Bruce Wayne has hardly left his home unprotected. "I can't go inside."

"Can you not simply put a dampener on your inhuman parts as you used to for your assignations with Master Jason?"

"You knew—?" Tim stops, biting his lip. Of course the Wayne family sorcerer sensed his clumsy fumblings to circumvent the wards on the manor. "I can't," he admits, staring down at his lap. "It's too difficult." To say nothing of the Fae part of him being the only thing that keeps him breathing when it gets really bad. If he were entirely human, he would die.

Mr. Pennyworth stops the car and draws a pendulum of black stone from his pocket and dangles it from his fingers before swinging it in Tim's direction, speaking words that send a shiver down his spine and make him want to claw at his ears. "The wards will allow you entrance now," the sorcerer says as he pockets the pendulum and resumes their drive. "Though they are far from pleased about allowing admittance to a dark creature."

"I'm not," Tim whispers. "My great-grandfather was of the Summer Court, and anyway I'm mostly human."

"Hardly," Mr. Pennyworth says with a sniff. "If that were true, you wouldn't have nearly enough magical power to have bound up Master Jason in the manner that you did."

"Sometimes it's stronger. When I need it to be." The car slows and pulls to a stop, the engine going quiet. Swallowing down his unease, Tim grabs his backpack from the floor and follows Mr. Pennyworth inside.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman has a few things to say about the whole situation.

Tim is sulking in the middle of the ballroom floor when, without explanation, Mr. Pennyworth says, "It would seem the boys have continued to remain in touch despite your repeated warnings." A low rumble has him twisting around to face the doors, and he watches as Mr. Wayne walks into the room. Mr. Wayne, not Batman, because he's not in the costume, cape, and cowl, just a dressing gown.

"I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Drake," he says, the corners of his mouth curling downwards. "I was under the impression that Fae are bound to keep any promises they make."

"Jason always called me, I was never the one to initiate the connections." Not that he would even know where to start to place a call to a high-security space station, even if he had been capable of it. "I swore I wouldn't try to contact him. You never said anything about him calling me of his own free will."

Mr. Wayne scowls at him, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest. "If he's been coerced to do it, it hardly counts as his own free will."

"I didn't coerce him. He wants to call all on his own; we _are_ friends." Or, well—they were friends back at the start, when they cut their skin, mixed their blood, and swore the oath. In the intervening years, they've become something more than friends, but that's hardly any business of these two men.

"I'm sure," Mr. Wayne says, but it's clear from his stance and his tone that he doesn't mean it, doesn't believe Tim any more than he did two years ago, when he first learned of both the oath and Tim's Fae ancestry.

"If I'd enchanted him, someone would have seen it by now. I'm sure you've had the Justice League's top magicians look him over." He straightens from his slouch, trying to muster up some kind of determination. "Anyway, I couldn't hurt Jason. I love him."

Mr. Wayne snorts, turning so his back is mostly towards Tim, clearly snubbing him as not worth his attention. "Why is it here, Alfred? If Jason is continuing to maintain contact, we'd do better to just restrict his access privileges on the Watchtower, not bring the cause of the problem into the heart of the manor."

"Master Jason contacted me, quite distressed. He seemed to feel Master Drake was in some sort of trouble." The sorcerer pauses, hesitating slightly. "I looked the boy over and it may be there is some reason behind Master Jason's concern. It would seem that nasty oath has come back to bite its caster's hand."

"I _told_ him I could've just stayed at school," Tim grumbles. "I was dealing with it fine on my own!"

Mr. Wayne frowns and moves closer, apparently so he can better study the protective circle Mr. Pennyworth drew after ordering Tim to sit on the floor and _stay absolutely still_. "These are all for countering power-leech spells."

"It would appear an unforeseen side effect of the binding means that all of Master Drake's magic is being pulled into the spell in an effort to close the distance between the boys," Mr. Pennyworth explains, which isn't entirely true, but whatever. It's not like the sorcerer is willing to listen to what Tim has to say anyway.

"Interesting. How have you been coping with Jason's earth sense?" Mr. Wayne asks, finally deigning to address Tim once more.

"What has Jason's magic got to do with me? It's not part of the oath," Tim snaps, drawing his legs in and wrapping his arms around them as he glares up at the men.

"My understanding of these sorts of things is that they generally include an equal sharing of magic in addition to the usual claims of property," Mr. Wayne says, which goes to show how little he actually knows.

"We didn't even know Jason had magic when I cast the spell, why would I bother to account for it? The whole _point_ of the blood oath was to give him some protection when I wasn't there to look out for him. Gotham's streets are dangerous, I didn't want him to get hurt," he explains, just as he has every other time he's been interrogated on the matter.

"Really, now." Mr. Wayne's frown deepens further, making it clear he still doesn't believe a word Tim's told him. "Magical bindings rarely allow for an unequal sharing of powers. Jason's magic was likely still tied in even though neither of you were aware of its existence at the time."

"It wasn't a—" Tim breaks off, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to clap his hands over them in an effort to block out the light of the room, do something to counter the sudden, piercing pain in his head.

"Mr. Drake?" He can't see Mr. Wayne, but for the first time since entering the room, the man sounds almost… concerned?

"Sorry, hurts," Tim gasps, letting his useless hands drop to the side to shake themselves out as he presses his face into his knees. "M'head. Sorry."

He doesn't hear what the men say next, the sounds of their quiet murmuring blending into a susurrus that he can't even attempt to focus on, not with how his brain is currently doing its damnedest to throb its way out of his skull. He feels awful for doing this, for showing weakness like this in front of _Batman_ of all people. Mr. Wayne may distrust all Fae and their descendants, but Batman is still his hero, and right now Tim is wasting that hero's valuable time with a silly headache that's sure to go away just as soon as he can lie down in a dark and silent room.

He's busy fighting back tears when a warm weight settles on his shoulder and—the pain is gone. Blinking his eyes open, Tim is startled to see Mr. Wayne crouched right in front of him, the salt circle scattered under his slippers as he rests his hand on Tim's shoulder. "Oh."

"How is the pain now?" Mr. Wayne asks, glancing down at Tim's side. Following that gaze, he's startled to see his hands resting calmly on the floor. He was so surprised by the sudden lack of pain that he hadn't even noticed when they stopped jerking.

"Completely gone," Tim answers, taking in a deep, testing breath. Unlike earlier, he doesn't sense the slightest niggle of hesitation on the part of his lungs when he fills them. "I don't… What did you _do_?"

"I negated any magic currently affecting your body," Mr. Wayne says, which yes, that's obvious enough. It's also completely, totally inexplicable. Everyone knows that Bruce Wayne is a norm—a mundane, non-magical person. Which is of course what makes his also being Batman so impressive, since he's constantly going up against some of the most fearsome magic-slingers around with nothing but his fists and gadgets.

"But it's a blood oath. Nothing can negate a blood oath." He's spent countless hours researching the subject after all, trying to find something, anything that would help him through Jason's time in space. "You have to wait until one of the parties dies for the oath to be broken."

"I should have specified. I _temporarily_ negated any magic currently affecting you," Mr. Wayne amends. "You see, I'm a null; a person who is immune to magic and its effects. When I touch someone or something, that immunity can be passed on for as long as the contact is maintained."

"So this won't last." Tim sags, his momentary elation at being pain-free disappearing. "You should have left it alone. It goes away after a while, and it's nothing I can't handle."

Mr. Wayne's mouth flattens out in an unreadable line. "Mr. Drake— _Tim_ —it would seem I may have been somewhat unfair in my assessment of both you and your intentions. What, exactly, is the purpose of the oath between you and my son?"

"I _told_ you, it's a protection spell. It was just supposed to lend him a bit of my magic—so he could make a shield, repel an attacker, stuff like that—and alert me to let me know he was in trouble. It lets me follow the line of magic so I can find him, but that only works when he's actively using the borrowed magic," Tim explains.

"That doesn't sound like any binding spell I've ever heard of," Mr. Pennyworth comments. "Binding magic generally demands equal contributions from all participants for the spell to be valid."

"That's because it's not a binding spell. It's an oath of fealty." Uncurling, Tim fumbles his phone out of his pocket, bringing up a picture of the vase he got the spell from originally. "It was used by people to make sure those they entered into contracts with couldn't stab them in the back. I just modified it so we only needed half the spell. It should have been fine, except it was never meant to work across hundreds to thousands of miles over an extended period of time."

Mr. Wayne takes the phone, but barely glances at it before passing it on to the sorcerer. "This is the spell you used?" Mr. Pennyworth asks. "You're certain?"

Tim glares up at him. "No, I used the other anachronistic vase my dad brought back from the Hellenistic dig he was at. Of _course_ that's the one I used." He's told them all this before, they just never wanted to listen in the past because all Fae lie, or don't really tell the complete truth, or something.

"It's, ah. Not a vase. More like a goblet, I'd say." Mr. Pennyworth frowns, turning the phone this way and that, zooming in on the image. "Did you cast the spell in translation or use the original language?"

"We just read the text that was written," Tim says, more than a little confused by the question. "Why would we need to translate English?"

"You mean to tell me that you—both of you—could read this?" Mr. Pennyworth presses, turning the phone to show him the familiar inscription.

"Uh, yeah. What about it?" Tim asks, though the hand on his shoulder tightens slightly, and Mr. Wayne leans forward, frowning at the screen.

"Alfred, that's…" He trails off, a look of intense concentration on his face.

"And it didn't strike you the least bit odd that something from a Hellenistic excavation was in modern English?"

"It's not modern English—there are _thees_ and _thous_ and all that. Like I said, it's an anachronistic vase—Dad thought it was probably a later addition, something added in the late Middle Ages," Tim patiently explains.

"Ah, yes. Of course Jack Drake would be able to read it as well," Mr. Wayne says, nodding to himself. "Tim, that's not English. I can't be certain, since I'm the last person who would ever be able to read it, but I expect it's likely Draconic."

"But I don't know any Draconic. I barely even know French, and I've been taking _that_ every year since sixth grade." As it is, he definitely didn't know anything beyond English and a smattering of Gaelic back when he and Jason cut their palms and swore the oath.

"Draconic is a… unique language," Mr. Wayne says. "It's magical in nature so that only dragons and those they trust intimately are capable of reading, speaking, or understanding it. At the same time, it's genetically encoded so that all dragons are born with the ability to understand it."

"But neither Jason nor I are dragons."

"No, but I suspect your father has a dragon in his family tree somewhere in the distant past," Mr. Wayne says, squeezing his shoulder slightly.

"Well, that would explain quite a bit," Mr. Pennyworth says with a sniff. "As I told you earlier, the amount of power tied up in this spell is significantly more than any half-Fae could manage. A dragon, however… Dragons are notoriously gifted, magic-wise. It's said one created an entire mountain range once."

"I'm not a half-Fae," Tim weakly protests. "It's really not any more than one-eighth, if that at this point."

"There's something else," Mr. Wayne says as Tim takes back his phone and puts it to sleep. "I'm far from an expert on these things, but I believe that isn't a vase or goblet that your father found."

Tim rolls his eyes. "A krater, then. I don't think proper terminology is really the issue here."

"I was going to say, I believe it's a Draconic marriage cup. They were known to have their vows inscribed or painted on the side, and it wouldn't surprise me if a number of those vows were magical in nature, particularly when their intended consort wasn't a dragon themselves," Mr. Wayne says, an uncomfortable grimace working its way onto his face.

"I don't… What are you saying?" Tim asks, even though he's got a pretty good idea of what's being got at.

"It would appear that you were correct to insist that you have just as much of a legal right to Jason's time as I do," Mr. Wayne says. "Since it would seem you've successfully married yourself to him."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to call in an expert.

Mr. Wayne leaves as soon as Mr. Pennyworth manages to cobble together a spell circle that will approximate the same effects as his employer's touch. The circle isn't as effective as the complete negation of magic that was provided before—there's a tremor to Tim's fingers, a dull ache in his head, and he can't ever seem to take in quite enough air—but he understands. The Batman is a busy man no matter which of his masks he's wearing, and Tim is, when it comes down to it, an unfortunate problem that has been thrust upon the man's family.

"You don't have to stay with me," he tells Mr. Pennyworth. "The way you suppressed my Fae side to allow me entry to the manor means that I won't survive very long outside this circle, so you don't need to worry about me wandering the house on my own." He has his backpack with his laptop and school stuff, and Mr. Pennyworth was nice enough to lend him a pillow and blanket to soften the hard wooden floor of the ballroom.

"You may be in need of medical attention at any time. I can hardly leave you alone here." Then, in a complete contradiction to his words, Mr. Pennyworth promptly turns and leaves the room.

Wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, he tugs his backpack closer and pulls out his WorldCiv book, resting it on his knees and opening it. Once Mr. Wayne determines that the oath isn't hurting Jason, there won't be any reason to keep him here, which means he should probably try to stay on top of things.

His laptop sits nestled between his books for Algebra II and Chemistry in his backpack, taunting him. He wishes he'd thought asked for the WiFi password before everyone left. Mr. Wayne probably hasn't had a chance to contact the Watchtower and forbid Jason from any unauthorized communication yet, so there's a chance that Jason might call and check that Mr. Pennyworth found him. If Tim had an internet connection.

He's mostly finished his reading for WorldCiv when Mr. Pennyworth returns, carrying a tray laden with something that smells absolutely divine. Setting his book aside, he scrambles to his feet as his stomach rather loudly reminds him that lunch was quite some time ago and he left the school before getting any dinner.

"Hm, yes. I thought you might be a bit peckish. Growing boys do tend to require a great deal of sustenance in my experience." Balancing the tray one-handed, Mr. Pennyworth twists a ring on his finger so the gem faces palmwards, then makes a complicated gesture. The air around Tim shimmers for a moment, just long enough for the tray to be passed over the circle of symbols carefully drawn in sand and salt.

"Thank you, sir." Tim staggers slightly under the weight of the tray and he sits down, eagerly digging into the small pot pie with the thoughtfully provided silver spoon.

Mr. Pennyworth selects a chair from one of those resting against the wall of the room and brings it over, setting it a few feet away from the edge of the circle. "You... are a boy, aren't you?" He sounds hesitant, almost sad.

Tim hurriedly swallows, frowning at the question. "Are you only just now realizing that? You do know Brentwood Academy is an all-boys school, right?"

That earns him a gentle headshake and him a quirk of a lip that's almost a smile. "We were uncertain when it came to your age. Your parents were well-regarded members of Gotham society back before Master Bruce was born. Fae and their descendants are known to age at a somewhat-decelerated rate, and when your parents returned to the city with a son that physically appeared to be no more than six, no one was quite certain whether you were a child in mind as well as body."

Oh. Well. That certainly explains quite a lot, particularly when it comes to Mr. Wayne's disapproval of his and Jason's attachment to one another. If the adults thought he was several decades older than Jason, more than old enough to be aware of the intricacies and consequences of a blood oath... Tim carefully sets down his spoon. "I'm fourteen years old; I'll be fifteen next July. I'm not some creepy Fae pedophile, pretending to be a kid to capture children. Heck, when it comes down to it, Jason's older than me."

"As I said, it would seem Master Bruce and I have misjudged you and your intentions. For that I must apologize. No child should be treated in such a manner as we did," Mr. Pennyworth says, sounding genuinely regretful.

"It's fine," Tim mumbles, ducking his head and trying to focus on his food. "Batman sees all kinds of awful things every day. Stands to reason he has more cause than most to be cautious about this kind of stuff."

"That does not make it alright to treat you in such a way."

"I guess." Tim isn't so sure about that—he shouldn't have been messing around with magic, obviously, because he really screwed things up for both him and Jason, casting a spell neither of them actually understood. It makes sense for Batman to be upset about how that enchantment may have affected his partner. And besides, it's nice to see Mr. Wayne so concerned for Jason. "But parents are supposed to be worried about their kids, right? So it's okay."

Mr. Pennyworth draws back, a strange look on his face. "You are a singularly unique individual, Master Drake, and I regret that we failed to recognize it sooner."

Tim shrugs a shoulder. "If you say so."

 

* * *

 

At some point, he curls up and goes to sleep, Mr. Pennyworth still sitting in the chair, stiff-backed and ominous in the shadows.

Despite the protections of the circle, he thinks he may have still stopped breathing a few times during the night, but he can no longer be sure. It's so commonplace now that he doesn't even wake when it happens anymore.

When morning comes, there's a tray of food waiting beside him in the circle, kept piping hot and perfect by a single fire opal resting in a corner of the silver tray. Mr Pennyworth, however, is absent. In his stead, a woman dozes in the chair.

Drawing the tray closer, Tim carefully eats his fill, all the while watching her. If he's right, this is one of the top magicians in the Justice League's ranks. He isn't sure—she's not wearing her trademark outfit, for one, just a sweater and jeans—and it's impossible to gauge auras from inside the circle, but he's fairly certain he recognizes the slight upturn of her nose, the deft winging of her eyeliner.

She startles awake when he accidentally hits his fork against the tray, and Tim impulsively scoots away from her. If she's who he thinks she is, this could be very, very bad for him. "Good morning."

"Good—morning," she replies, yawning in the middle of the greeting. "Ba—Bruce said you know about his nighttime gig. Do you know who I am, too?"

"Zatanna Zatara," he says, because if she knows who Batman is, who else could she be? "You're here to break the oath between me and Jason." It was only a matter of time until they resorted to this. In all honesty, he expected it to come a lot sooner.

"Oh, sweetheart, no," she says, rising from the chair and coming over sit cross-legged on the floor right at the outer edge of the runic circle. "If I tried to do that, I'd probably end up killing you."

Tim shrugs a shoulder. He's been skirting the edge of death ever since Jason went away. Plus, Mr. Wayne isn't going to allow them to talk to each other again, let alone see one another. If he can't be with Jason, can't talk to him, can't see him, he doesn't see much point and continuing on. "I don't mind, if it helps Jason."

Ms. Zatara looks like she might cry, which is stupid. He’s just a kid, not even an important one (not like _Robin_ ). Heroes shouldn't be crying over him. "Tim, honey, that's the thing. Nothing's wrong with Jason, he's perfectly fine. You're the only one who's hurting here."

"If Jason is fine, I don't know why everyone's worried." That had been his biggest concern, back when he first started to feel adverse side effects as a result of the bond. He was fairly certain the brunt of the burden would fall on him, thought that Jason would mention if he experienced anything similar. But if he’s been hiding what he’s going through, then there's always the possibility Jason is doing the same.

"You did catch that heroes are supposed to help innocents, right? That's sort of our raison d'être." She glances down at the circle and slowly, carefully steps inside it, making sure she doesn't break or smudge the markings. Crouching, she takes Tim's face in her hands, tilts his head this way and that, looking for something that only she can see. "Still, many of us are only human and sometimes we let our emotions blind us to what's right in front, like Bruce did."

"Jason's his son, of course he's worried." Mr. Wayne cares about his family, worries about more than just how their actions might reflect badly on him. Tim cast the bonding spell because that kind of care was something Jason needed way back when, before he had a powerful protector to look after him. "And Mr. Wayne thought—He didn't know my intentions. Fae don't have the best reputations, even those of the Summer Court."

"He also didn't listen when you tried to explain, and, I'm sorry to say, neither did the rest of us. Nor did we investigate as fully as we should have at the time, didn't go back to the source instead of using the spell transcription your father provided Bruce with." Ms. Zatara tilts his head again, brushing his hair aside. He wonders what she's looking for, what she hopes to see. "It really does read like an oath of fealty when written in straight English by someone who isn't aware of Draconic history or culture."

"But then why...? Fealty oaths aren't bad things, just promises of support and alliance." Why would Mr. Wayne act so adversely if he thought it was a fealty spell from the start?

"Believe it or not, most find it rather questionable when a child is demanding another child swear his undying loyalty."

"Oh!" No wonder Batman and the Justice League have been looking at Jason as the victim all this time. "Oh, no. No, I thought I was swearing my loyalty to him, not the other way around. Sorry, I thought that was clear."

Ms. Zatara frowns, brushing Tim's bangs to the side as if she'll find some kind of answer in his hairline. Who knows, maybe she can—the magic practiced by magicians isn't anything like what Tim is used to. "A good thing to know. Though, since it wasn't a fealty oath, none of that is particularly relevant anymore."

"No," he says, staring down at his lap and squeezing his knees as he tries to keep calm. "I suppose not." A marriage contract is distinctly different beast than a fealty oath.

"I don't know if you're aware, but Fae take marriage contracts quite seriously," Ms. Zatara says, her voice soft and gentle, like she's breaking bad news. "I was hoping the Draconic parts of you would be enough to negate that, but from what I can see, that just won't be possible."

"My Fae ancestor was Seelie," Tim volunteers. "Worst comes to worst, I can break the vow and probably won't have much happen beyond losing my magic." It's gotten him in so much trouble, he doesn't think he'd mind it that much. The only good he's ever done with it was save Jason's life, though the way Jason and Mr. Wayne talk about what happened in Ethiopia, even that wasn't such a great thing.

Ms. Zatara wrinkles her nose. "Clearly not an option."

"I don't see why not. I can't stay in a protective circle until Jason gets back—he's got at least another three months."

"Your magic is a fundamental part of you, Tim. You may not realize it, but it's an intrinsic part of your makeup. For all we know, your Fae magic may be the only thing keeping your human and Draconic parts balanced. Losing it could prove fatal."

"But the oath can't stay in place." That's the important thing here, the part that really matters.

"Oh?" she asks, her voice careful and prodding. "And why is that?"

"It's not—with his earth sense awakened, Jason doesn't need it anymore. It's unnecessary to keep it going. Especially now that I know it's not the kind of spell I thought it was," he explains, pulling his legs in close to his chest and glancing away from the magician. It's not that he _minds_ the idea of being married to Jason, has always planned to be with him for as long as the other boy allows him ( _forever and always_ ), it's just... Tim is only fourteen, Jason sixteen. He's hardly ready for this, and Jason, well. Jason never consented to anything like marriage.

Of course, that's likely part of the problem. He may be married to Jason, but because of how he edited and truncated the oath, the same can't be said in reverse.

"It was a noble thing you did, binding the two of you together to help your friend," Ms. Zatara says, turning Tim's face back towards her. "He may no longer need the protection it provides, but that doesn't make it an unnecessary spell. The benefits _are_ supposed to go both ways, after all."

"Ms. Zatara, honestly it's—" He breaks off mid-sentence, head snapping up and out of her hands as he hops to his feet, pauses for a moment, then carefully turns twenty-seven degrees eastwards.

"Tim? Are you alright?"

"Jason," he says, his entire body thrumming.

"What about Jason? Has something happened? Is he in danger?" she asks, leaping to her own feet and sounding every inch the hero he knows she is.

Any other time, he might be excited at the prospect of seeing one of the world's greatest magicians in action. Not now, though. Not when there's something so much more important happening. "Jason," Tim repeats. "He's here."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason's back!

The huge double doors of the ballroom swing open, and there, like a hero out of a fairy tale, is Jason. Wonderful, perfect Jason, looking safe and healthy and absolutely fine, despite all his worries and fears.

Every part of Tim's being throbs with a single sentiment, a single word— _mine_. He doesn't even notice Ms. Zatara step aside, doesn't notice Mr. Pennyworth come hurrying into the room as well. His entire world has coalesced down into just this, right here. Just Jason, running, slip-sliding across the polished floor towards him.

Jason skids to a halt in front of Tim, his toes nearly touching the circle, eyes huge. "You _shrank_!"

" _You_ grew! A whole foot!" Or, well, maybe not that much—maybe only half a foot, but it sure feels like more, standing here, staring up at Jason for the first time in nearly a year and a half. Sure, they've been video chatting that whole time, but the screen never gave a good impression of proportion, and while the resolution is pretty good, it didn't convey all the details. Jason has _stubble_ now, he's practically an _adult_.

Something seizes in Tim's chest, grabbing his heart and twisting it. It's almost like when he loses the ability to breathe, but somehow infinitely worse, since now there's no trouble with his lungs, they're working perfectly fine. At the same time, his throat feels tight and his chest aches something awful.

"Hey, no. Stop that," Jason says, sounding slightly panicked as he surges forward. 

"Wait, the circle—" Tim starts to warn, but he's too late. Jason's foot is dragging through the salt circle, scattering the sand of the carefully drawn symbols. Jason wraps his arms around him, and for one brief moment all the pain is gone—no more headache, no more shakes, and Tim can pull in deep, wonderful breaths.

Then his heart slows to a sudden, sluggish pace. "Uh oh," he says faintly as his extremities go tingly and he begins to lose feeling. A small part of him observes these changes with detached interest, noting that he likely wasn't affected until now due to the Fae part of him being suppressed by the circle.

"Hey, are you alright?"

"Broke m'promise," he says, the words slurring slightly because he can't really feel his lips or tongue anymore. He feels woozy and awful, leaning into Jason even more, despite that being the cause of problem. Too late now, may as well enjoy it while he can, his eyes drifting shut as someone starts shouting. There's a pounding also, but that might just be in his head… or maybe not, since the floor starts shaking like a rhinoceros is charging across it.

A hand lands on his shoulder, and suddenly his heart is working again, though it stutters slightly, trying to make up for lost time. "Tim, I absolve you of your promise to me," Mr. Wayne is saying. "You don't have to stay away from Jason, you can contact him if you want, I release you and give you my permission." The hand falls away, but Tim's heart keeps working like it's supposed to—though it does beat a bit fast after that scare.

"What the fuck, Bruce? What did you do to him?" Jason snarls, tightening his hold around Tim's shoulders.

"Fae can't break oaths or promises without suffering dire consequences," Ms. Zatara says from her place a few feet away, next to Mr. Pennyworth. "I suspect Bruce extracted a vow from Tim that he'd stay away from you."

" _Bruce_."

"It was meant as a precaution, until we had a better understanding of the situation," Mr. Wayne says, looking more than a little uncomfortable under his son's gaze.

"Anything else you want to tell me? Like maybe why you've got Tim trapped in a spell circle when he's clearly sick and needs help?"

"It wasn't a trap," Tim says, laying a hand on the tense muscles of Jason's arm. "It was a protective circle, to help me until we figured out a solution."

Jason's gaze softens as he turns his attention back to him. "Do they even know what's causing it? Or have they been too busy poking at you and preaching about how shady and untrustworthy all Fae are?"

"It's the oath," Tim says, glancing away as he hesitates to say more, reluctant to admit to his mistake.

Jason must take his reticence the wrong way, because he's suddenly pulling Tim close again, hugging him tightly. "Don't be sad. I didn't think I'd be gone for so long—would never have even _left_ if I'd realized what would happen—"

Tim wants to lean into the embrace, to breathe in Jason's smell, bask in his warmth, revel in the intrinsic _something_ some part of him has been searching for ever since Ethiopia when everything went wrong. But he can't. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… I just wanted you to be safe, I never thought—"

"Never thought I might be worried about you, too? What's the point of keeping me safe if it kills you to do it? Idiot." Jason mutters this last into Tim's hair, pressing his face there and inhaling deeply. It's wonderful, it's perfect—it's everything Tim's been aching for this entire time, but he still can't have this. Not when Jason doesn't _know_. Can't know, not with how he's being so sweet and sympathetic.

"No, it's—the oath. It wasn't what we thought it was," Tim insists. His struggles to escape Jason's arms are half-hearted at best, though he knows he should try harder. He's taken advantage of Jason's trust in an awful, unforgivable way.

"Well, obviously, since it was literally _killing_ you for us to be apart. You should have said something, you just about gave me a fucking heart attack when you fell over like that, I swear!"

"No, I mean—" Tim tries again to explain, but Jason is hugging him tightly once more, and it's hard to remember words when he does that, hard to think of much of anything at all except for _minemineMINE_. Really, the amazing thing is that it took as long as it did to figure out the Draconic component of all of this.

"I think what Master Drake is trying to tell you is that the oath he swore was a marriage one," Mr. Pennyworth says, his crisp, clear voice cutting through the contented fog that's descended over Tim's brain, and oh. That's right. He'd completely forgotten there was anyone else in the room aside from him and Jason.

"I. What? _Marriage?_ " Jason gasps, whirling them both around so he can no doubt stare at the adults. His arms don't drop, but they do go stiff, and the bottom drops out of Tim's stomach.

"I'm part dragon," he says in a small voice, the words half-muffled from his face being pressed into Jason's chest. "The oath was from a Draconic marriage krater. I married myself to you. Sorry."

Pulling back slightly, Jason stares down at him, his face full of confusion. "We're married?"

Blinking furiously, Tim sucks in a deep breath (barely has the presence of mind to marvel at the ability to do that) and meets his gaze. "I am. To you. Sorry." Seeing Jason's look of dismay, he hurries to add, "But you're not, so really, you don't even have to think about it, ever. No one would expect you to cleave to it, and we're fairly certain you're still exempt from any of the curses that usually come with a Fae marriage contract."

"Why do you keep _apologizing_?"

Tim frowns, unsure of what Jason's getting at. "It's not what you agreed to, when I told you about the spell. I coerced you into agreeing to it under false pretenses."

"But you didn't know it was a marriage spell either, right?"

"No, of course not! I never would have—we were children, Jason!"

"You are both _still_ children," Mr. Wayne insists. He's pulled away now that the promise has been undone, but still hovers only a few feet away on the other side of the now-destroyed circle.

"Stuff it, B, you've already done enough damage," Jason snaps before turning back to Tim. "If you didn't mean to make it a marriage, you have nothing to apologize for. You thought it was a fealty oath, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"But nothing! It's not your fault, there's nothing wrong." Jason pauses, his cheeks going pink. "I mean, unless you don't want to be married to me?"

"That's hardly the thing to be concerned about here," Mr. Wayne says, but Jason just shoves a hand in his face again, pushing him back.

"What's done is done, Bruce," Ms. Zatara says, coming over to stand beside him. "The important thing now is figuring out how to fix this so that Tim doesn't continue to experience a power drain every time the boys are apart."

"It's not always," Tim insists. "Just when it's a really big distance for a long period of time. I was fine when Jason went to Ethiopia."

"I don't understand; why is this only affecting Tim? I was fine the entire time I was on the Watchtower." As he talks, Jason rubs a hand down Tim's spine, digging his fingers into tense muscles.

"Oh, that's. I mean. I may've… edited the spell a little," Tim admits. "Like I said, the marriage is only one way, so that's probably why you've been fine."

"I still don't understand how a marriage can only go one direction. If you're married to me, I should be married to you."

"No, because we only did half the spell. We didn't think you had any magic at the time, so it seemed pointless to for the bond to be reciprocal," Tim patiently explains.

"What?! That's not what I agreed to. You said it would help both of us when we swore it, I wouldn't've agreed otherwise."

"I… might have stretched the truth a little. It does help me! It helps me know you're safe."

"It's my belief that a good chunk of the current problems are due to the modifications Tim made to the spell," Ms. Zatara interjects. "I've examined the oath extensively as it hangs on him, and most of the magic seep seems to be from the open end of the spell. If the spell were properly completed, the spell loop would turn into a closed circuit, allowing magic to be shared more equally between you both."

"Zatanna, you said that wouldn't be necessary," Mr. Wayne protests. "They're still _children_ , for goodness sake."

"I said it _might_ not be necessary. Since then, I've had a chance to better examine the spell and I really don't think there's any other way to go about it, not unless you're willing to risk Tim's life—which I, for one, am not about to let you do."

"We're not doing _anything_ that could potentially hurt Tim," Jason says sharply, his hold tightening around Tim's shoulders.

"Jason, it's fine. Ms. Zatara already talked to me about it, breaking the oath would likely just keep me from using Fae magic anymore."

"The hell with that. Your magic is a part of you, you shouldn't lose it just because of some stupid mistake we made when we were kids."

"It's not—I don't—" Tim bites his lip, shrinking away from the looming adults. Mr. Wayne is wearing a turtleneck and jeans today, but he still looks every inch like Batman, from his glower to his stance, and it's rather intimidating. "Except for the side effects, I don't mind being married to you," he mumbles into Jason's shirt. "I don't think it's stupid at all."

The anger falls away from Jason's face and he practically falls over himself, trying to backtrack. "No, I didn't mean—! That is, I don't think being married to you is stupid either. Would be stupid, if I was. That's what the solution is, right? For me to say all of my half of the oath to make it a complete spell?"

Mr. Wayne immediately makes a noise of protest like a wounded animal. "Jay, lad, you're hardly old enough to be doing anything like that."

"Yeah, well Tim did it when he was _eight_ and I'm sixteen. It's only fair that I put in just as much as he has."

"Jason, you really don't have to," Tim insists, but the words are lost in the face of loud protestations from both Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth.

"Oh, be quiet, all of you," Ms. Zatara snaps, her voice cutting through the clamor. "Honestly, I don't see why you bother calling in an expert when you refuse to even listen to what she has to say."

"I haven't heard you suggesting any solutions," Mr. Wayne growls, leaning forward to loom over her. Seeing him like this, it's impossible to think that anyone could ever fail to connect him to his alter ego, and Tim is even more grateful to have Jason standing between the two of them.

"Because you've all been too busy running around like idiots. Now, since I assume you've fetched the item I asked for," she says, nodding to a box Tim hadn't even noticed Mr. Wayne holding until now, "I just have one question."

"And what would that be?" Jason demands, eyeing her with suspicion.

Reaching into her back pocket, Ms. Zatara produces a pocket knife and flicks out the blade. With a reassuring smile, she directs her gaze straight at Tim. "Do you trust me, kiddo?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is probably not the blood oath you were expecting.

"Zatanna, I hardly think initiating yet _another_ blood oath is the way to do this."

"Oh, stuff it, Bruce," the magician says, rolling her eyes. "It's the best way to get the job done and I know to put boundaries and limits on any oaths I swear."

"You aren't going to do anything to hurt Jason, are you?" Ms. Zatara is a hero, and Tim wants to trust her, but she's holding a knife and he's not alright with anyone who hurts Jason.

"Nope, I swear. Do you trust me?"

A final look to Jason for confirmation gets him the smallest of nods, which more than enough to reassure Tim. "Yes." 

"Right, then. Hand, please," she requests, and Tim tentatively holds out his left hand.

She frowns. "No, your right. Don't tell me you used your left last time?"

"Yes? Was that wrong?" Tim bites his lip, glancing back at Jason as he holds out his right hand instead.

She frowns some more and makes an unhappy sound. "No use crying over spilled milk."

The cut he's expecting—why else have the knife? But Jason jerks against him when the knife pierces the tip of Tim's middle finger, hissing slightly. "Hey."

Ms. Zatara peers at him, an intrigued look on her face. "You could feel that?"

"No, but you didn't say you were going to hurt him!"

"Jason, we're dealing with blood oaths. A little blood is par for the course," Tim reassures him even as Ms. Zatara cuts her own fingertip.

"You're certain you trust me?" she asks again. When Tim nods, she presses her bloody finger to his, then clasps them together with her free hand. " _I, Annataz ArataZ, gnieb detsurt yb Yhtomit Ekard, od dnib flesym ot mih dna sih doolb litnu eht nus stes ta eht dne fo siht yad_. Now you say, 'Os etom ti eb."

" _Os etom ti eb_." A brief flair of magic burns across his fingertip as Ms. Zatara repeats the words, sealing this newest blood pact.

"Right, that's done." She gives his finger a brief squeeze, then lets it go. When Tim glances at it, the skin is clean and unbroken, lacking even a thin scar like the one on his left hand from his bond with Jason.

"What did that do?" A question he probably should have asked before blood was spilled, but he wasn't lying when he said he trusted her.

"Temporary blood tie between me and you," she explains, taking the box from Mr. Wayne when he offers it to her. "This way, I can read everything without you needing to translate for me first." Opening the box, she tilts it slightly so he can see the contents. Inside, carefully cushioned by tissue, is the krater his father found. "I figure it's about time someone who actually knows what she's doing took a good, long look at this thing."

"Oh." It makes sense, and Tim's a little ashamed that he didn't realize her aim sooner. Of course the fastest way for anyone to gain the ability to read Draconic is to just create a blood-tie with someone of Draconic ancestry; they already proved that with Jason.

"This may take a while, you kids go catch up and have fun," she tells them with a wink. Box closed up again, she turns and strides out of the room, Mr. Wayne hurrying after her and demanding to know more all the while.

"I think now would be an excellent time to move Master Drake to one of the guest rooms, since a protective circle is no longer required to maintain his health," Mr. Pennyworth says, stepping forward to collect the forgotten breakfast tray. "Master Jason, if you would be so kind as to gather the bedding, I believe the blue bedroom is close enough to your own that there will be no troubles with distance."

"Right, of course, Alf," Jason says, releasing Tim for the first time since their reunion and stooping down and grab the blanket and pillow from the floor. "I guess it'd be asking too much for us to just share my bed, like how we used to when we had sleepovers?"

"Indeed," Mr. Pennyworth observes, though he smiles slightly when he says it. It's surprising enough that Tim has to scramble to grab all his things before he's left behind.

 

* * *

 

They leave Tim's backpack in the blue bedroom and then migrate to Jason's bedroom anyway, though Mr. Pennyworth insists that they have to leave the door open at all times. "This is ridiculous," Jason huffs, collapsing back on the bed. "I can't believe they're being such asses about the whole thing. It's not like you did it on purpose."

"Parents worry about their children." Or at least they're supposed to, not just shove them off on someone else whenever the kid fails to behave exactly as expected. "You nearly died in Ethiopia, Jason. I think they were really, really scared. I know I was."

Jason huffs. "I guess. Still, they didn't have to be such jerks about it." Smiling up at him, he pats the beside him. "Sit already."

Rolling his eyes, Tim sits carefully down next to him on the edge of the bed. This lasts for all of a second before Jason is pulling him down so they can lie side-by-side.

"Hey," he says, smiling at Tim as he gently strokes his cheek. "Missed you."

"Pretty sure I missed you more," Tim mumbles, scooching closer and resting their foreheads together.

"God, I can't even—" Jason sucks in a deep breath and slowly exhales. "I'm probably grounded for life, but it was totally worth it."

"Wait, what?"

"You didn't think Bruce just suddenly decided to let me come back, did you? When Alfred didn't get back to me after I told him to go check in on you, and then you just dropped off my radar and I couldn't even feel your _magic_ anymore—" Jason shudders.

"That was probably when Mr. Wayne nullified the oath, and then Mr. Pennyworth did the spell circle to keep me safe." Tim hadn't realized Jason could feel the flow of magic between them, but he's glad of it. If nothing else, it means that Jason never has to truly be alone.

"Oh. I, uh. May have panicked a bit and hacked the Zeta tube behind Martian Manhunter's back so I could come home early. It is _hard_ to go stealth around a telepath, lemme tell you." Jason gives him a sheepish grin and Tim can't help but lean in and gently kiss it.

"I'm glad you came. Things were going alright, but. It's better with you here." Everything is always better when Jason is there beside him.

"Would've come a lot sooner if I'd known you were having problems." Jason hooks an arm around him and pulls him close, tucking Tim under his chin. "Why didn't you just _tell_ me?"

"Didn't want you to worry. And you were only supposed to be gone for a little while; I figured I could stick it out." 

"Two years isn't a 'little while,' Tim. You should have told someone you were having problems. If not me, then someone at your school."

"No one would've listened if I'd gone to them. You know how they are at that school, I told you."

Sighing, Jason runs a hand down Tim's back. "At least Alfred got to you in time. You sure you're okay now?"

"As long as you're right here with me."

"Not getting rid of me that easily. Forever and always, Tim."

"Yes," Tim says, tilting his face up for another kiss. "Forever and always."

 

* * *

 

They have dozed off when Mr. Pennyworth comes to find them for lunch some hours later. It's not surprising, considering Tim spent the night on a hardwood floor and Jason's internal clock is completely out of whack after spending so much time in space.

"Master Drake was given a bed of his own," Mr. Pennyworth says, though Tim's learning to read his face and he thinks the sorcerer might be fighting down a smile.

"Like I'm going to let him out of my sight after what happened last time," Jason shoots back, quickly smoothing the wrinkles out of his clothes and hoping to his feet.

This earns him a raised eyebrow, but at least Mr. Pennyworth is kind enough to walk several feet in front of them when they troop downstairs, giving them a modicum of privacy.

"Hey, why are you still in your school uniform anyway?" Jason asks, quickly catching Tim's hand in his own as they go.

"I didn't have a chance to grab anything else when Mr. Pennyworth came to get me yesterday," Tim admits. "I didn't think I'd be here this long. I thought for sure Mr. Wayne would send me back to school as soon as he came back from… From being out last night." He flushes slightly, not entirely sure if he should even say that much—in general, it would seem the people in Wayne Manor avoid making direct reference to the inhabitants' nightly activities. If he's to be a part of this family, however peripherally it may be, he'd like to try and avoid committing any sort of unfortunate faux pas.

"You should have told me earlier, I could have loaned you something. Heck, I think most of the stuff in my room down here will fit you better than me, these days," Jason says.

"Well, yeah. You're practically a _giant_ , now," Tim retorts. "It's ridiculous."

"It's puberty. Anyway, you're still nice and Fun Size, so I don't see what the problem is."

"I am _not_ Fun Size!"

"Boys," Mr. Pennyworth says, "don't make me come back there and separate you."

 

* * *

 

Mr. Wayne and Ms. Zatara are already seated in a breakfast nook when they get there, apparently busy bickering over something, the krater carefully placed in the center of the table.

"I still don't see why it matters that they used their left hands," Mr. Wayne is saying, the roast beef sandwich in front of him tragically forgotten after only a bite or two.

"Of course you don't, you focused your studies on offensive magics. Chiromancy is too passive for you," Ms. Zatara shoots back before taking an angry bite of her own sandwich.

"We used our left hands so we wouldn't have bandages on our right ones when we had to write," Tim volunteers, squeezing Jason's hand tightly in his own. "And we cut along one of the lines so my parents wouldn't notice the scar."

"You _what!_ " Ms. Zatara demands, bits of lettuce and roast beef flying everywhere with her exclamation.

"Really, Ms. Zatara," Mr. Pennyworth reprimands as he ushers Tim and Jason to take empty seats at the table. They're probably supposed to sit across from each other with the table in between, but instead Jason pulls him over so they cram in on the same bench as Ms. Zatara.

She quickly swallows and sets down her sandwich. "Sorry, Alfred. But still—I know you're a sorcerer, but even _you_ must realize what that could mean."

"Indeed," he says as he passes Tim and Jason their own sandwiches. "However, I believe we have already determined that Master Drake had nothing but good intentions when he enacted the oath and so which hand was used should have little bearing on the matter."

"We'll see about _that_. Jason, hand, please," she says, turning to Jason who is sitting right beside her.

Jason is in the middle of taking a big bite of his sandwich, so Tim sprawls across his lap to show her his. "See? Right along this curvy one, here. We did it really shallow, just deep enough to draw blood. And we cleaned and bandaged it up right away to make sure there wasn't any infection."

"You cut along the life line. Of course you did." She sighs and waves him back, so he settles down to eat his own sandwich.

"Something the matter with that?" Jason asks, glaring at her. "Like Tim said, we were careful and it didn't get infected. You can barely even see the scar."

"I don't suppose you remember which direction you cut? Towards your wrist or away?"

Mouth full, Tim shrugs and shakes his head. It was several years ago, and his stomach was full of butterflies at the time—he had found it difficult to even remember his own _name_ when it came time to speak it.

He glances at Jason, but he's shaking his head also. "I dunno. We just cut, there was blood, then we held hands and read the spell off the picture of the cup Tim had on his phone."

Ms. Zatara sighs. "It would have been good to know the direction since that would give us a better idea of the spell's origins, but I suppose it can't be helped."

"I don't see what our cuts have to do with where the spell came from. We just cut there because it was out of the way and wouldn't be noticed, we didn't have any other reason and the spell definitely didn't say we had to do it a certain way," Tim protests.

"Ah, you see." She coughs, chancing a glance at Mr. Wayne as she sets down her sandwich and wipes mustard from her cheek. "I've had a good long look at that krater, including the writing on the inside, not just along the sides."

"Did you know there was other writing?" Jason asks in an undertone, leaning in close.

Tim shakes his head. "It was on a shelf, so I only got photos of the sides I could see. It didn't look like it wrapped around, so I wasn't worried." And he'd planned to change it some anyway, so it hadn't really mattered to him at the time.

"You might not have understood the meaning of it even if you had seen it. Yes," Ms. Zatara says, holding up a hand when Tim starts to protest, "you would have been able to read the _words_ , but their meaning may have been such that you wouldn't have had the training or knowledge to correctly interpret them. Because Draconic is a magical language, it can vary how it chooses to display itself, including offering a simplified form for readers who may not otherwise have the vocabulary to understand the true meaning of the original."

"You're saying we read a sort of baby version of the spell." Jason takes a bite of sandwich and chews it thoughtfully, frowning the entire time. Finally, he swallows. "Tim's always been bright, though, even at eight. Sure, he didn't get that it was a _marriage_ oath, but that's a pretty minor thing over all. I mean, historically, marriage and fealty oaths aren't all that different anyway, right?"

"True, and I'm not disputing that," she reassures him. "But without the additional part in the bowl to frame the spell, there is no way you two could have realized that this isn't... well." She glances at Mr. Wayne again, her brow furrowing as he angrily and methodically chews through his sandwich.

"Something the matter?" Mr. Wayne asks when he notices her attention. Or maybe not—he probably noticed it all along and is only choosing to call her out on it now.

"Between what I've read on that krater and what the boys have said about their cuts, I don't think you really have any choice but to let them repeat the full ritual in its entirety."

"They are _children_ and my responsibility in regards to this entire affair. In regards to anything, if I have any say about it," he grumbles. "I already have an appointment with a Family Court magistrate later today. The way that school dealt with Tim's affliction was downright negligent, and don't even get me started on his parents for putting clearly magical child in a place like that in the first place!"

"Oh," Tim says, small and surprised, leaning into Jason as he stares up at Mr. Wayne. "You don't have to worry about that, if the oath is fixed, I'll be fine, honestly—"

"Hush, you. It was criminal and they shouldn't have done it, any of them," Jason hisses, wrapping an arm around Tim's waist and holding him close. "Bruce is an ass sometimes, but he's right about this, and he's a damn sight better at this parenting gig than your mom and dad."

" _As I was saying_ ," Ms. Zatara breaks in. "You have to let them renew it, Bruce, since it's pointless to try and stop them. Everything I've seen points to the same conclusion—this isn't the first time they've sworn this oath, and, since this universe is likely to stick around for a while, my guess is it's far from the last."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full cycle; it ends exactly the same way it began. The same way it always has, always will begin—forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things! Firstly, this story has now been beta'd in its entirety by the estimable [chibi_nightowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/works), so that's an improvement. Secondly, I've muddled a bit with ages and the end result is that (since it's an AU anyway so I can do what I want) there's now a two-year gap between the boys instead of three, because 14yo/17yo sets off my _eek_ meter even when there're magic shenanigans involved.
> 
> Anyway, this has been a wild romp, thank you all for sticking with it despite the erratic updates and weird-ass plot twists. \o/

"Excuse me? What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Mr. Wayne demands, leaping to his feet and leaning halfway across the table to glare at Ms. Zatara. Tim is a more than a little overwhelmed by the act, but he can't fault him—he'd dearly like some clarification of that particular bombshell as well.

Ms. Zatara shows herself to be every inch the magician she is, calmly staring up at Mr. Wayne. "Exactly what I said—it's not the first time the boys have done the oath. The fact that they—completely of their own accord, mind—chose to specifically cut along the lifelines of their left hands indicates that this is connected to something their souls have done in the past. Or will do in the future—the fact that we don't know which way they cut confuses things a bit, but considering the age of the krater, it's more likely the former than the latter."

"Oh wow," Tim says faintly, her words and their meaning sinking in. "'Forever and always.'"

"Wait, what? D'you mean to say this is all because of something we did in some former life?" Jason demands, eyeing her in suspicion.

"Jason, think about it," Tim says, turning to him. "In most marriage ceremonies, the bride and groom swear to stay together as long as they both live, until 'death do us part.' It's basically stating the parameters of the marriage oath's limitations. But our oath didn't end like that."

"No," Jason says slowly. "It didn't. I guess 'forever and always' is pretty open to interpretation, isn't it?"

"You're saying that they were forced into this by some previous incarnations of themselves?" Mr. Wayne demands.

"Oh hell no," Jason snaps, jumping to his own feet to glare at his father. "I wasn't forced into anything, and neither was Tim. We did this because we wanted to, not for any other reason. Sure, we thought it was a different kind of oath we were swearing, and sure, Tim _did_ kinda mislead me on what the spell was going to do, but we did it because _we_ wanted it."

"Jay, you can't be sure—"

"We became friends all on our own and fell in love all on our own too," Tim interjects. It's scary, facing off with Batman, but if Jason and Ms. Zatara can do it, so can he. "If anything, it's less that something forced us than, than—than fate! It was fated. Probably, even if our past selves never made that oath, we still would have found each other, somehow. Right, Ms. Zatara?"

"It's possible," she admits. "Madame Xanadu and Dr. Fate would know more about that kind of thing than me, but fate is a really tricky thing. It's hard to avoid it, especially if it has specific plans for you in mind."

"Just because fate says something has to happen doesn't mean we should enable it," Mr. Wayne grumbles, but it seems to be more a token protest than anything else as he settles back down in his seat. "You're _certain_ there's no other possible interpretation of the text?"

"I'd say 95 to 97% certain. I can't really know without consulting a true native speaker of the language, but the last dragon-mage friendly to humans died quite some time ago and I'd rather not add time travel to an already complicated mess."

Mr. Wayne sighs. "Would it be possible to at least wait until they're both eighteen?"

"Why? It's not like we're going to change our minds anytime soon. All waiting will do is throw Tim's health into jeopardy for even longer. Forcing us to wait would make you nearly as bad as his parents," Jason insists. "If you care so much about him being safe and looked after properly, you should let us do this."

"I'm inclined to agree with Master Jason this point," Mr. Pennyworth says, startling Tim slightly. He'd forgotten the sorcerer was even still in the room, what with everything else. "It can hardly make things any worse than they already are, and, as it is, a completed Draconic blood oath would do much to strengthen your case if you intend to sue for custody of Master Drake."

"See? Even _Alf_ agrees, you can't not let us now."

Looking more than a little lost for words, Mr. Wayne falls back with a thump on the bench. "I... suppose you do have a point. But you're still sleeping in separate rooms until you're _both_ over eighteen."

Jason narrows his eyes. "Age of consent is sixteen in Jersey, old man."

"My house means my rules and I'm not above asking Alfred to put a nanny-cam spell on your room."

"I, uh, really don't think that's going to be—"

"Fine, well. Guess we'll just have to visit Dick a lot over in New York."

"Well then," Ms. Zatara says loudly. "Alfred, thank you for the lovely meal. Tim, would you like to join me in the workroom? It sounds like we have a blood oath to prepare for, and these two are going to be stuck locking antlers for a while longer."

"Wait," Jason says, scrambling to jam the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, "I'm coming too!"

" _Master_ Jason. You will sit down and eat like a proper gentleman and _not_ like a wild animal," Mr. Pennyworth snaps, and it's worth it dawdle behind long enough to see how both Jason and Mr. Wayne react to the tone of the sorcerer's voice, both of them straightening in their seats and, with obvious great reluctance, slowing the pace of their chewing.

Jason swallows. "I'll be right there! Wait for me?"

"I—"

"Come on," Ms. Zatara says, eyes twinkling as she takes Tim's hand in hers. "Alfred hasn't got you trained yet, so that means you're mine for now."

 

* * *

 

The spell is surprisingly easy to prepare for. Though it's only used these days by Mr. Pennyworth and Dick Grayson when he's in town, Wayne Manor has a very nice magical workroom tucked into the east side of the building, where it's no doubt lit up by the sun each morning. The floor of the round room is impeccably polished stone while the ceiling and walls are paneled in ash, forming a protective dome to safeguard the rest of the house from any experiments that gone awry.

Ms. Zatara notices Tim admiring the walls and smiles. "According to Bruce, there's a special sort of gutter running through the walls and filled with salt. It's in the door also, so when that's shut the entire room is protected and contained on multiple levels."

"That's really clever. The workroom in my parents' house isn't nearly so nice, but I think it's a converted bedroom," Tim says, running a hand over the smoothly polished wood. "This was obviously built with magic in mind."

"The Waynes were powerful magicians for generations before Bruce came along. I'm pretty sure the null ability came from his mom, though he may just be a sport. Nulls don't really like to keep records of their lines or existence, since a lot of magic-users feel threatened by them."

"You don't?" He doesn't mean it to be a question, the words just come out that way, and Tim flushes and bites his lip.

"I know Bruce has a good heart and a mostly sound head on his shoulders," Ms. Zatara says, winking at him as she gently sets the krater down on one of the workbenches that sit back from the center of the room. "He tries to use his ability to help instead of hurt, and that's what matters to me."

"Batman's a hero," Tim says, because he still believes that with his whole heart.

"Hm, yes, well. Bruce is still just a man."

Tim opens his mouth to say more, but at that moment the door slams open and there's Jason, panting loudly. "I told you—I'd be—right there."

This idiot. "Jason, you don't have stick around and follow me everywhere. I'm fine now that you're not hundreds or thousands of miles away," Tim tells him. He feels like rolling his eyes, but he's also honestly tickled pink that Jason is so worried about him. Instead, he holds out his hand, and Jason grabs it like a lifeline.

"Really, Master Jason. They could hardly have begun the ritual without you. Show some decorum," Mr. Pennyworth says, bringing up the rear with Mr. Wayne.

"If this is about running in the halls again, I'm not buying it," Jason says, eyes narrowing as he moves closer to Tim, apparently putting himself between him and Mr. Wayne on pure instinct alone. "Dick and I talked and he said you used to let him swing from the chandeliers, back in the day."

" _Let_ is not quite the right word when it comes to Master Richard and attempting to manage his love of heights."

"Boys, if you're done chattering, I'm ready for you," Ms. Zatara says, and Jason tugs Tim to the workbench, apparently eager to complete this despite the risks.

"Jason," he whispers as the butterflies start up in his stomach again, just like last time. "You really don't have to."

"Psh, weren't you listening earlier? We're _destined_. You're not getting rid of me that easily." He gives Tim's hand a squeeze and he desperately squeezes back.

He feels badly about this—feels like some past him probably wasn't being very responsible, tricking some past Jason into swearing such a powerful oath—but the guilt is nowhere near strong enough to say more now that his token protest has been shot down. After all, once this is done, Jason will be his for certain and he'll never have to worry about losing him again. Not in this lifetime, at least. "Love you."

"Love you too, dork."

"Yes, yes, you're both tooth-rottingly adorable. Now, if you're done being all schmoopy with each other, the alcohol is fast evaporating from the wipe and you kids are going to have to let go of each other sometime," Ms. Zatara says.

With great reluctance, Tim slowly releases his hold on Jason, then raises his left hand for Ms. Zatara to clean even as Jason does the same. "Is there anything special we need to do?"

"Well, aside from reading the entire oath this time, just do it as close to how you did it last time. That will allow the new spell to better hook into the half-done spell one and absorb it. The more absorption you manage, the better. Otherwise, you're just layering the new spell over the top of the old one, and that would be more a patch-job than an all-out repair." She slides a knife across the bench to them. It's not the pocket knife she used earlier, instead being one that's clearly from the workroom—delicate and beautifully crafted, with a decorated handle and wickedly sharp-looking blade.

"Right then. Okay." With a deep breath, Jason takes the knife in one hand and Tim's hand in the other, then begins to read from the krater. "I, Jason Peter Todd-Wayne, being of sound body and mind, do hereby swear..."

He should pay attention, but it's really hard to do much of anything beyond allow himself to be lulled into a sort of trance by the reassuring sound of Jason's voice. Now that he knows the trick of the language, it feels like, if he concentrates, he can hear everything on two levels. One, the familiar archaic English he remembers, but distantly, resonating underneath, there's something completely different being said. Something old and powerful and, in its own queer way, wonderful.

It barely even stings when the blade cuts into Tim's palm. He thinks he hears Ms. Zatara inhale sharply, but he doesn't even notice that, he's focused on Jason, the knife, the krater. Once Jason finishes cutting, he holds out his own hand and Tim takes the knife, repeating his half of the oath. This time he says all of it, including the part in the bowl of the krater that neither of them saw before. When he finishes, he carefully cuts along the scar on Jason's palm, just deep enough to draw blood and no more. It's much easier than he remembers; the blade is very sharp.

Finally, he drops the knife on the workbench and takes Jason's hand in his, grasping it tightly to let their blood mingle. Magic tingles along his palm and, together, they speak the final, binding words. "All this we swear to do, forever and always."

The words seem to echo in the room, even though they shouldn't, not with the walls and ceiling all paneled in wood. The floor is stone, but just that shouldn't be enough, and Tim can't recall it sounding like this last time, in the darkness of the jungle gym they used to meet at in the middle of the night. Maybe it's different now because they don’t stop halfway.

He feels big and small all at the same time, like he's expanding to fill the room or sinking down into it. Under him, he can feel the veins of the rock, the crystals and the microscopic air pockets, the varying densities between this color and that, the different structures of the molecules. Going deeper, he can feel the earth, the stone, and… and air again, moist and cold and full of secrets, except there aren't any secrets there, not any more. Not from him.

"Oooh," Tim says, swaying slightly as he's nearly overwhelmed by all the new sensations and information. "There's a _cave_ under the house!"

Jason steadies him, his free hand cupping Tim's elbow. "You got that already? Wow, it took me weeks to be able to feel the cave after I moved in."

"You were younger and hadn't had any training at all. Is it like this all the time for you? Feeling everything underneath and just _knowing_ what it is?"

"Oh, I, uh. Don't always know what it is. Or, well, I didn't before I got all these different rocks and formations drilled into my head by Bruce and the rest. Now I can spot a concretion from miles away."

Now Tim really wants to know what a concretion feels like (soft and fluffy like some of the formations in the cave, or smooth and slick like the floor under them?), but the sound of someone clearing their throat reminds him that they are far from alone in the room. Gulping, he glances at Ms. Zatara, who is in the middle of using an old rag to wipe the knife clean of blood.

"So the magic is a two-way street now?"

"I can feel the rocks and the ground and the cave and the way the tree roots are digging in and—"

"And you?" She turns her gaze to Jason.

He shrugs. "The magic doesn't feel any different than before? But I can feel Tim better now. He's… excited."

It hadn't even occurred to Tim to try and feel for Jason, he's been so caught up by all the rocks and everything. Now that he casts his mind in that direction, though, he feel a tug and a glowing sense of _pleased_. It feels like safety and happiness, all wrapped together in a wonderful tingle that screams _Jason_ to all of his senses. "I can feel you too! You're really happy it worked. And—" He blinks, more than a little startled by what else he's getting from Jason, and his cheeks go hot. "O-oh."

"That's enough of that, I'm sure you've exchanged enough blood for the bond to have settled." Mr. Wayne is a bit louder than Tim thinks is strictly necessary, but he doesn't protest when Ms. Zatara pulls their hands apart. The cut is blood-smeared but sealed, a thin, curving scar the only sign of what was there.

"Well, that's a relief. I was a bit worried it might not take completely since you two changed up the order," she says, sounding quite pleased.

"You said to do it exactly the same as last time," Jason reminds her.

"I did, and then you didn't. Tim should have been the one to initiate it."

"But I didn't last time?" There's a lot about that night that's fuzzy in Tim's memory, but that part is definitely clear. "Jason did. I got nervous, so he just took my phone and knife and started right in."

Ms. Zatara frowns, glancing between them, then back at the krater. "Huh."

"Is something the matter, Ms. Zatara?" Mr. Pennyworth asks.

"No, just… Ah, it's nothing." She claps her hands together and grins. "Welp, that's all fixed. Congratulations, mazel tov, and all that jazz. I'm off to take advantage of this temporary Draconic knowledge and see how many ancient texts I can read in the next five hours. Have fun, kids!" With that, she strides out of the room, Mr. Pennyworth hurrying after her.

"Aw, man. Here I got married and I haven't even gotten to kiss the bride yet."

"I am _not_ the bride in this situation, Jason," Tim snaps.

" _Boys_ ," Mr. Wayne snaps. "Please try and behave yourselves."

Biting his lip, Tim catches Jason's hand in his. Something tells him they won't be behaving themselves any time soon. Not as long as it's both of them, together. Tim and Jason.

Forever and always.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The repercussions of Tim and Jason's oath aren't only long-lived, but also far-reaching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have this aborted attempt at an epilogue as a part of Week 2: Soulmates of JayTimBingo2019!
> 
> In case it wasn't clear, this doesn't take place in the same universe as the rest of the story.

"You okay there, Red?" Jason asks as he swings into the little nitch Tim is currently hunkered down in.

"I think so. Those knives are something fierce; the blade cut right through my gauntlet," Tim admits, referring to their foe of the evening, an assassin-for-hire that has designs on picking off some of Gotham's most notable citizens. He tugs the glove free to assess the damage and winces at what he sees. Yeah, that's a cut alright, and one that's bleeding pretty heavily. "I'm going to have to bandage this before I head out again, and I can't do that one-handed. Do you think you could do it?"

"Yeah, sure." Jason holsters his weapon and pulls his own gloves off, shoving them in a pocket. Leaning in to rummage through Tim's pouches, he jerks slightly, hissing softly. "Motherf—"

"You alright?" Tim wasn't really paying attention to what he was doing, more concerned with poking at the cut on his palm. Despite the copious blood, it looks shallow and like it mostly follows a pre-existing scar, so it shouldn't be too bad. Hopefully.

"Ugh, yes. Feel like an idiot though. You'd think I'd know where you keep what after all this time, but I still managed to slice myself on one of your little disc things," Jason says, sounding more than a little rueful.

"Let me see—" Unthinking, Tim automatically reaches out with his hurt hand for Jason's, accidentally smashing into it in an aborted high-five instead of grabbing it as intended. "Shit, sorry!" he gasps, yanking his hand back and shaking it, trying to clear the tingling sensation that resulted from the impact.

"'S cool. Heck, it's really not so bad," Jason says, offer his own palm for Tim to see. "I actually managed to get it right along an old scar."

"Oh, weird."

"What?"

"That's the same as mine." Tim holds out his hand palm up, showing the curving line of red. "Same place, same story—right along a scar I've had for forever."

"And always."

Tim shivers, peering up at him. "Why did you say that?"

"I… don't know. It just seemed the right thing to say. Forever and always."

"Forever and always," Tim repeats, almost on automatic. It _does_ seem right, though he can't say why.

**Author's Note:**

>  **UPDATE!** There is now a prequel, though I feel it works better if read after this story, which is why I'm linking it here at the end: [Always and Forever](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20226388).
> 
> [I have a tumblr!](http://themandylion.tumblr.com/) Come visit if you want ridiculous AU headcanons, rants about the English language (and/or educational publishing), plague fangirling, adorable baby bats, and veeeeery occasional fanart. Also, because I am an actual human being with opinions of my own, sometimes I post or reblog things that reflect those opinions. If you can't handle the idea of someone existing in the universe and possessing opinions which differ from your own, you probably should not click on that link.


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